From January, 2018

Iambic Tetrameter

I am the night in which I sleep, You are the beast that does not eat. We are the flow within the creak.   I am the rug that which I beat. You are the heart that does not weep, We are the show, yet make no peep.   I am the song sung in the deep, You are the doe who knows not heat. We are the end, but are not bleak.   I am the man who locked his keep. You are the morgue’s white hot sheet, We are the cripples, yet speak nor meet.      …

Some Hundred Feet

A seaside fort overlooks waves of emerald; An ocean oscillates while a lone guardsman meanders along its stone rampart.   Some hundred feet below, amber kelp amasses as would colony of ants; arduous ebb of life whispers like breeze through Autumn’s fading fields of grain.   To the lone guardsman, his post is plinth of Excellence. To the nestled papaya, that post is bait for Sorrow:   Some hundred feet below, synchronous nature scrapes along ever decaying pumice throne Some hundred feet above, lone guardsman scrapes boot along ever aging stone;   Bamboozled, he gazes: For up on the moon,…

A Teardrop

A teardrop rolls down my face along my nose, down Downwards downwards encumbered with pain; one part sodium, one part water. Three part emotion,   +his teardrop continues on it’s path. Wide arching turn around the corner of my mouth, but when it reaches the underhang of my chin it rolls off but with a moment’s hesitation   As if pondering upon the nature of it’s departure. Then it falls and the weight of it all Refracts through its curves like an inverse mirror, it absorbs life in full   And for a second, a beautiful salty-sweet second, this teardrop…